


A Song For Rodney

by peabodythecat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Bad Dreams, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Rodneys childhood was not fun, Sentient Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peabodythecat/pseuds/peabodythecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlantis lights up for John, but sings to Rodney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I've always believed that music is as much a part of Rodney as flying is a part of John. I find it heartbreaking that Rodney lost music. I thought Atlantis could help him find it again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atlantis lights up for John, but sings to Rodney.

He hated the sound of piano music. Every piece, every measure, every note reminded him of her. And he hated her. He had to make it stop. The sound invaded every room in the house. He could hear it even out here in his workshop. It was leaching into his mind, his soul. He had to make it stop. So he put down the bottle and studied his toolbox. Ahh yes, this will do nicely. Like his father told him:Use the right tool for the job. As he strolled towards the house, he gave the claw hammer an experimental swing. Yes, the perfect tool.

\---

Atlantis sang to him. Yes, yes, of course, clearly Major Sheppard was the City's favorite son, lighting up with joyous exuberance, calling to him, "Touch me. It has been so long. You belong to me. I belong to you." It was public acknowledgement; a bright, brave statement to the entire expedition that Atlantis loved John Sheppard. Like everyone else, Rodney saw the City's blatant response to Sheppard, but he didn't mind. He knew he was selfish and petty in many, many ways, but not in this. He could never be jealous of John.

Just like he could never have begrudged Jeannie the love their parents showered upon her. They deserved it after all. And Rodney, for all his many faults always, sometimes reluctantly and with ill grace, but always, always gave credit where credit was due. Credit was important.

Also, Rodney found it surprisingly easy be generous where John and Atlantis were concerned. It was easy because of the secret. Atlantis sang to him. The music started as soon as his dormant ATA gene activated. When he woke up the day after receiving Beckett's treatment he knew it worked.  Before he opened his eyes he heard the trilling of the City in his very bones. It was like waking up on the first day of summer vacation and hearing a chorus of songbirds outside his window.

Sometimes, like when he was alone, working in the lab, the music was simply a humming presence in the background. Like a memory he had, from when he was very, very young, a memory of his grandmother singing softly to herself in another room.

Other times, especially when he was working directly with Ancient tech, the music was a duet, her melody and his harmony, point and counterpoint, weaving together seamlessly in a round.

When Rodney had placed his hands around that first ZPM in Atlantis, bells rang. A tintinnabulation declaring victory and announcing a celebration. That was also th first time he explicitly realized that no one else heard the music. 

And when Sheppard and Rodney were working together, together with Atlantis, the music in his mind was a symphony so rapturous he thought his heart would break. It was Ode to Joy and The Hallelujah Chorus and every John Williams movie theme rolled into one glorious surge of emotion.

The first time it happened, Rodney was so overcome with unaccustomed happiness, he actually had to stop working on the Chair diagnostics and pull himself together. He placed his forehead against the smooth wall of the Chair Room, Athosian style, breathed deeply and silently asked Her to please, please tone it down. It's too much. Too much sensation. Too much of him. The symphony immediately quieted down. Pianissimo. A whisper. Still there, but he could concentrate. Wouldn't be consumed. Wouldn't get lost in the music. Lost in John. Loosing. Loser. Lost City. Lost.

Sheppard thought he was having a hypoglycemic attack and tried to get him to stop for lunch. Rodney gobbled a peanut butter power bar and gulped coffee, covering the intensity of the moment with bad manners and acerbic comments. He didn't want to leave the Chair Room. Even playing quietly in the back of his mind, the symphony was the most beautiful thing he'd ever experienced and he didn't want it to end. Didn't want to end it. Did John hear it too? Could he if he tried?  Did he want to hear the music?  He could never ask. He was too afraid of what the answer might be.

\-----

The nightmares started soon after The Storm. And oh the cacophony Atlantis played as Kolya threatened Elizabeth. Dissonant, clashing. Rodney felt raw. And he could imagine what the Parisian audience who first heard The Right of Spring felt like. And out at the grounding station, he heard only the pounding of kettle drums, or was that his heart?

The nightmares...not surprising. For all his bluster about psychology and pseudo science and voodoo, Rodney wasn't nearly as oblivious to the working of his psyche as he'd like people to believe (and that most most did believe.) It would have been abnormal not to have the nightmares, said Kate Heightmeyer.

Instead of a knife, however, in his dreams, Kolya wielded a hammer. Instead of repeatedly slicing the tendons of Rodney's arm, he methodically crushed every delicate bone in his hands and fingers. Piano music played cheerfully, horrifically, in the background.

Then the dreams changed and Kolya was torturing Jeanne, then Elizabeth. And then John. And then it wasn't Kolya holding knives and hammers. 

After losing Brendan Gaul to he super wraith,  Rodney stopped sleeping for more than 90 minutes at a time. It was shockingly easy to hide the insomnia. Another check in the pros column for being an irritable, friendless bastard.

But after staring at a simulation for 38 minutes before he realized it had completed 42 minutes ago and enduring ever increasing nasty and unsubtle comments from Simpson and Kavanaugh he shut down his work and headed back to his quarters. He knew it was exhaustion when he couldn't bothered to insult them in return.

He woke up, sweating, shaking and silently screaming (be quiet, never let them hear you) . He'd slept less that an hour. His stomach revolted at the mere thought of coffee. His room felt claustrophobic. He got dressed, hands shaking so much he struggled with his boot laces, abandoned them and started for the labs, barefoot.

When the transporter opened in an unused wing of Atlantis, not the science area, he just stumbled out, assuming in his exhaustion he'd pushed the wrong destination, but not caring. The unused wing had been briefly explored in the early days. It was determined to be safe (relatively speaking) but nonessential. There were no labs containing energy beasts, no super-viruses, no time dilation portals. Just a series of rooms that Elizabeth and the anthropologists speculated were family living quarters.

It made sense that the single, dorm like rooms close to the control tower were for essential, on duty command staff and military personnel, but that families were housed farther out in the city. His tired mind spared a thought for Ancient families before he mentally slapped himself for being maudlin.

As he wandered down the hall, his unshod feet were quiet, so unlike his usual confident stomp. Atlantis was silent. He didn't know where he was going, or why. Even in the haze of sleep deprivation this struck him as being out of character.

Rodney was at heart a goal oriented individual. It didn't matter whether the goal was Win a Nobel Prize, or Don't Get Eaten By A Super Wraith or Don't Let John Get Eaten By a Super Wraith or Get a Second Chocolate Pudding Cup Before the Marines Eat Them All. The process was the same. And the process definitely did not involve wandering aimlessly through out of bounds sections of Atlantis in the middle of the night.

The last time anything like this happened, he had been picked up by the cops 2 miles from home on blustery October night in Toronto. He'd been sleepwalking and had climbed out of his bedroom window, heading for god knows where. He got picked up at 3 am when he staggered across an intersection where some police were parked after calling off an unsuccessful takeout. Clad only in thin cotton pajamas, barefoot with blond curls plastered to his head, the police thought he was either drunk or hurt. He was ten years old.

His father was furious at being called to the station. Embarrassed. He took Rodney home and hit him 7 times with a belt and told him if he knew what was good for him he'd never pull anything like this ever again. "Don't you even think about running away again! " and all Rodney could think was _I_ _didn't think about it this time either._ But he didn't want to get hit again, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

\--

All of a sudden, Rodney was hit with a wave of exhaustion, nausea, emotion and he leaned against the smooth, cool wall of Atlantis to steady himself. The music he felt was soft, soothing; a single instrument, flute like but pitched lower, not shrill. It steadied him.

The nausea receded, but the exhaustion remained. He thought about just sliding down the wall and passing out int he corridor. He'd slept in worse spots in grad school, not to mention off world. But then a chime sounded and he noticed a door right there beside him. He only had to recognize it as a door when it slid open invitingly. Back in that dreamlike fog, Rodney stepped through. The room was shadowy. Atlantis refused to let him turn the lights on brightly, but he found the shadows soothing, restful. There were soft papasan-like chairs, unlike any Ancient furniture Rodney had ever encountered. He sank down onto one of them and it was comfortable. It was large enough that he could curl his legs up into it. He felt like he was safe in a nest. The room was cool and dim and the music was a lullaby and he fell asleep.

\---


	2. Diminuendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney dreams about his childhood. John can't locate him and starts to worry.
> 
> Warning for past childhood abuse and angst.

Atlantis knows Rodney is asleep. And with his conscious mind at rest she can access his memories. She can nudge them toward the surface, dreamlike, to purge their poison from her beloved.  
They are like a virus in a network. Lurking, hidden, unseen and causing untold damage. Not irreparable though. Not yet. When she first connected with this beloved one, her Musician, she reveled in the beauty, the complexity of his mind. He thought in octaves of eight, in algorithms and 11 dimensions. 

Very different from the Lightbringer but not less. They both bear wounds, these remarkable organic creatures from across the stars. Deep wounds. But Lightbringer is more skilled in coping, a poor gift given by a lifetime of managing pain and fear and hiding the truth of who he is. They are bound together these two, even if they don't realize it yet. Repairing the Musician was essential to healing them both. It was the first step. It was essential. Atlantis would not survive without both of them. 

So she explores his dreams.  
\------

Rodney's first memory is of waking up in a wooden crib painted bright red. He is hungry and smells something good coming from his grandmother's kitchen. He reaches out with chubby baby hands and grasps the bright red bars. He pulls himself up until he is resting against the side of the crib. 

Along with the good smells, music is wafting softly in from the other room. A lady is singing about the sea. It's pretty, but he is hungry and doesn't want to sing right now. 

The crib's paint is shiny and glossy, like the skin of an apple. Or like a lolly pop he had a taste of once. He stuck his tongue out and gave the bar a little lick. Yuck. Why would something so pretty taste so awful?  
He wanted to cry a little bit, so that someone would come get him and maybe give him something to eat. But he didn't. Better to wait. Waiting meant smiles instead of pinches. 

So he waited. But it was a long,long, very long time before anybody came.

\-----  
John jerked awake with a violent start. He was pointing his gun at the door before he was even consciously aware of his surroundings. Heart pounding, thought the lights on and took a deep breath. A dream. Just a dream. He glanced at the clock. Only midnight...enough time to walk the perimeter and still get a decent night's sleep. He padded softly down the halls, a soft glow leading him, lighting the way. 

The city was quiet. On the way back, he'd swing by the labs and drag McKay out of there. Elizabeth had pretty much forced a promise that he'd keep an eye on Rodney. Well, maybe forced was too strong a word...and maybe he'd just mentioned it to her that as team leader he needed to know the whereabouts, physical condition and any possible reason his team members wouldn't be fit for the field. That after the events of the past month McKay was acting a bit peaky. 

Elizabeth had fixed him with a stern gaze and lectured him about privacy and boundaries and trust. Then she softened and said, "You could just talk to him, John." John just stared helplessly at her for a moment then stalked out of her office, wishing childishly he could slam the door. The lights did flicker ominously and he took bitter satisfaction from it.  
\----  
The lab was empty. This was surprising as the scientists had been bitching loudly at dinner about how McKay was monopolizing the good computers for his own simulations. They couldn't even get them at night. There were uncomplimentary references to his paternity, his hairline, and his cat. But when Kavanaugh tried to turn the talk truly ugly with a not so thinly veiled reference to Gaul and Abrams, Zelenka shut it down fast. Then Radek looked intently at John until he unclenched his fists and moved out of Kavanaugh's personal space. 

So John was surprised to find the lab dark. He thought the lock open and peeked inside. Empty. Not even the computer in Rodney's office was running. 

He snagged a life signs detector from the charging station and left the lab. After the Storm, he and McKay had worked on reconfiguring the LSDs to identify individuals. The hand held models didn't have the range the puddlejumpers, or the control room systems had, but John could squeeze a little extra juice out of them, so he could see right away that Rodney wasn't in his room. Control room, Chair room and Mess hall were all busts as well. On a whim, John walked past the balcony McKay had been haunting more and more frequently. Nothing. Where the hell had he gone?

\-----  
His mother always warmed up by playing scales for 30 minutes. So when he heard that first C major chord, Rodney knew precisely how much time he had to put away his Legos or book or chemistry set, go to the bathroom and get a glass of milk before settling into his hiding place under the stairs to listen to her play the piano.

He looked forward to this time of day. His father at work, or the bar; the afternoon sun turning the hardwood floor of the living room the color of maple syrup; Rodney tucked comfortable under an old blanket, holding a scruffy Paddington Bear. It was the only time his mother lost her pinched, unhappy expression. As she lost herself in Mendelssohn and Dvorak and Liszt, Rodney would lie back and listen, the music imprinting in his brain and filling his soul. 

Once he fell asleep in the hiding place under the stairs. No one missed him until dark, when some latent parental instinct had his mother and father searching the neighborhood for their missing 5 year old. They stormed back into the house, and their shouted recriminations were what woke him up. He tottered sleepily out of the nook yawning and rubbing his eyes. 

He was immediately grabbed by his blond curls and shaken roughly.  
"Where the fuck have you been you worthless brat?" His father's words were slurred, whether from anger or vodka, Rodney couldn't tell. He knew better than to try to explain. He just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. 

"I work for that" smack "arrogant son of a bitch" smack" Wagner" smack "who wouldn't know talent " smack "if it " smack" HIT HIM IN THE FUCKING FACE" smack, smack smack, " and then I have to come home" smack " and "find you gone" smack " and listen to your goddamn mother" smack " bitch at me about it." 

Tears were streaming down Rodney's face. His bottom and thighs were burning and he'd bitten his lip hard to keep from screaming.  
Please, he thought, please let it be over soon. 

"So, you better" smack "shape up." And with one final, vicious slap of his belt the punishment was over. "Now get your ass up to your room and stay there. And don't think you'll get any supper tonight. Or tomorrow. Now get out of my sight."

The next time Rodney ventured downstairs, it was to see his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table drinking a martini and looking  
disapprovingly at his mother, who looked even sadder than usual. 

"Pregnant." His grandmother was saying. "Well that's unfortunate. It will push back your return to the tour at least another few years." And Rodney's mother looked like she was biting her lip hard too. 

\-----  
John was starting to feel very uneasy. He went so far as to tap on his comm link and hail McKay on the team channel. Rodney didn't respond, but when Teyla and Ford heard the call, they met him at his quarters to find out what was going on. 

He felt foolish as he explained where he'd searched, leaving out the why he'd searched for the time being, but neither Teyla nor Ford dismissed his concerns. They had a plan in place within minutes. God he loved his Team. 

\---  
Rodney was late. He'd left the library on time, but had to detour through the park to avoid the crowd of big kids gathering in front of the gym after sports practices were over. By the time he'd made it past the pond, he was running. 

His piano teacher, made it clear: to be one of his chosen pupils you had to be gifted, polite, willing to work harder than you thought possible and never, ever be late for lessons. Rodney had been 10 minutes late last week due to heavy snows. He'd been warned that he wouldn't get another chance. So Rodney ran.

At eight years old, he wasn't the youngest student, attending the prestigious Bennett Piano Studio. However, he was the youngest whose parents didn't drive their kid to lessons. 

His mother was too busy with Jeannie (ballet, Latin, her own piano lessons) and his father told Rodney that it was high time he stopped behaving like one of the spoiled rich brats at the studio and take some responsibility for himself. Didn't Rodney think he had better things to do than chauffeur a sullen kid with mediocre talent around town. Rodney should be grateful his parents were even paying for the lessons. They were a luxury the family could ill afford. 

So, three times a week, rain or shine, after school, he hiked across town for piano lessons.

Usually, a detour throughout park was something Rodney looked forward to. Sure, the detour added almost a mile to his trek, but in the park, he could briefly let his guard down, shed the burdens of being a child genius, a lonely kid promoted to Jr high school. 

In the park, he would watch light reflect off the surface of the pond, wondering that just 8 minutes and 93 million miles ago that light left the sun; he'd see the mathematical beauty of a Fibonacci spiral in the heads of the ferns lining the bank. He could watch the flock of Canadian geese rise from the ponds surface and think about aerodynamics. 

He'd listen to nature's music: soprano songbirds ; violin music played by joyous crickets; the hooting of a snowy owl recalling a low D on an ivory recorder. Usually the park let him shed the accumulated hurts and humiliations of the day. 

But tonight, the park was just an additional mile to run. Because if he was late tonight, he would be expelled. And Rodney McKay was familiar with disappointment - he saw it in the shake of his mothers head,In Jeannie's frown. He heard it in the sighs of his teachers and in the groans of his reluctant teammates. He felt it in the hard grip of his father's hands - But he didn't know if he could bear to see that look of disappointment cross Maestro's face. He didn't know if he could bear his own disappointment if he was told never to return. 

So Rodney ran.

And even though the heavy snows had melted, there were still icy patches lurking in the shadows cast by the tall evergreens. And in his desperation, without much physical grace on his side, Rodney slid on the black ice and broke his ankle. 

One moment he was racing down the path and the next, he was lying prone in slush, watching his sheet music blowing away on the winter wind. His heart was pounding and his head was throbbing, but he didn't feel the real pain until he tried to stand up. 

It took Rodney more than an hour to get to the studio. By that time, night had fallen and the temperature had dropped well below freezing. It was only sheer stubbornness, which later in life would see him sent to Siberia as well as save a friend from certain death, that got him across that park. He would get to that lesson or die in the attempt.

As he staggered into the waiting room, dripping slush and mud, half frozen and exhausted, one of the mothers made a disapproving sound low in her throat. But Rodney didn't care. He'd offer to mop up the floor, he'd polish the brass door handles. He just had to explain what happened and beg for forgiveness. He sank down on a wooden bench, the seat farthest from the heating vent, but well away from the posh moms. His leg was numb by now, he just wanted to keep it still. He closed his eyes, just meaning to rest for a short minute. But as he fell asleep his last thought was if I could just explain...

\-----


	3. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While rushing through the halls of unexplored Atlantis to find missing Rodney, John considers his scientist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. RL has been a bit chaotic. If you are still reading this thanks for sticking with me. Good news... The next chapter is almost done!

As he raced through the halls searching for his missing scientist, John thought about the crazy bundle of contradictions that was Rodney McKay. Arrogant and brash and loud and greedy. But brave and shy and kind. 

He'd see McKay reduce his staff to tears, but he'd also sat in a senior staff meeting where Rodney had gone toe to toe with Elizabeth to defend some inexplicable action Zelenka had taken while McKay was off world. 

He expected the scientists to loathe McKay. But with a few notable exceptions (Kavanaugh and a xenoichthyologist who John secretly thought had lost her marbles way before stepping through the Stargate) they were remarkably loyal. Sure, they bitched and complained about Rodney, but they were proud of him. John had heard more than one scientist defend McKay when a new batch of marines (mis)took him at face value, seeing only the rudeness and the disdain...only what was on the surface. 

Maybe because he kept so much of himself hidden, John thought he was pretty good at spotting other folks who lived on the surface of their skin, but kept their souls locked away. 

At first he thought McKay was NOT one of those folks. The man definitely lived on the surface...his mouth constantly running. And what few thoughts, opinions, or beliefs didn't come vomiting out of his wide, slanted mouth were written clearly on his face. Outrage was pretty common. Followed closely by disgust, smugness, and terror. 

Yeah, in Antarctica he'd prepared to dislike this arrogant jackass.

But. But he didn't. He found it impossible, actually. He even found it impossible to not care one way or the other. And John had learned to trust his instincts. And possibly, improbably he was listening to something that his rational mind knew was absolutely NOT the consciousness of the city. 

The something that wouldn't let him get a good night's sleep until McKay agreed to be part of the team. 

Something that kept nudging him to look at McKay when he was bringing Miko a cup of hot green tea when she came back from her first off world mission and looked like she was going to start weeping. 

The something that caused him to just by happenstance be in the lab when Rodney congratulated Dr. Massey for coaxing and extra 6% of power from the naquada generators; or caused him to ask Teyla casually where the Athosian kids had learned the rules to Canadian football only to be told that Dr McKay spent a free afternoon playing with them on the mainland and left only after making them discuss plays in terms of physics and then threatening every single one of the kids with a fate worse than grisly, lingering, itchy death if they ratted him out to any spiky haired Americans. 

Yeah, there was more than surface noise...Dr. Rodney McKay wasn't all that he appeared to be at first glance. And John found himself doing a lot of glancing. Glancing, observing, watching. And no, he didn't dislike McKay. Quite the opposite in fact. Hmmmm. John thought a little more about why. Just as an exercise in logic. Not to stave off his growing panic as he ran farther and farther away from the known corridors of Atlantis and deeper into the unknown. 

Rodney wasn't the type to run from a problem, not unless the problem was a wraith or a seven hundred pound space wolf with really really big teeth. Or bees. And lemons. 

No, with relatively few exceptions given their residence in a galaxy that was out to kill them in grisly, unexpected and spectacular ways, Rodney confronted problems. he solved problems. He took problems apart, reduced them to their simplest subatomic level and then fixed them. 

Yes, John saw this too as he was Glancing, observing, watching. Thinking about. Dreaming about? Hmmmm. 

Ok. Just up ahead. The glowing light that he'd been following seemed to (finally) have stopped. A doorway. For a minute, John let a wave of irritation wash over him. "God help you Mckay if you've put me through all this because you found some secret off the grid ancient lab that you don't want to share with Zelenka.."

But as Atlantis led him through he door, his internal monologue broke off. A giant fist punched him right in the gut. This was no lab. This wasn't a joke or a ruse. This was Rodney in trouble.


	4. Small Blue Thing

Rodney was once given one of those Ukrainian-style hollowed out Easter eggs. The kind where elderly women wearing hand embroidered head scarves blow the yolks out of raw eggs through tiny pinholes and then painstakingly decorate the delicate shells with elaborate wax decorations. He was given one of those eggs once. 

Except his wasn't like that at all on the outside. 

He was given the egg for Easter the spring he was eleven years old. His mother had run away to her old life the autumn before. She'd left her family for concert halls with crystal chandeliers and standing ovations and music; beautiful and terrible music. 

Ever since then, the old lady who lived next door in a gingerbread trimmed cottage surrounded by daffodils and tulips had taken it upon herself to see that McKay children didn't turn savage. The flowers in her yard made Rodney sneeze, but the old radio in her kitchen was always tuned to a station that played Big Band music and he remembered how the old woman had given Jeanie a cup of tea with plenty of honey and gently washed her face the day their mother left, so he tried to be polite as he carefully accepted the gift. It was a dove's egg. Smaller than a chicken's egg and light as air. It was painted the most beautiful shade of pure blue Rodney had ever seen. It was if the artist dipped her brush into the sky itself: Indigo. The word and the color and the beauty of such a gift swirled around in his brain like a waltz. She placed the gift carefully in his cupped hands. He stared at her, eyes a bit wild. He tried to stammer his thanks, but the words stuck in his throat. She smiled gently and sent him on his way.

He slunk into the house, trying to go unnoticed. His dad was drinking a lot these days. Suffice it to say, he was not a happy drunk. Through the front room, up the stairs and down the hall to his room, he tiptoed quietly, carefully. When his door clicked shut, Rodney breathed a sigh of relief. Safe. The egg was safe. He sat down on the edge of his bed and looked at the delicate work of art. No one had ever given him anything like this before. Not anything unique. Not anything that had been painstakingly created just for him. Not anything precious. It was so fragile. Yes, yes. The young scientist in him knew an eggshell could withstand incredible force. But for once he wasn't trusting the theory. He was irrationally, emotionally, wholeheartedly convinced that if he didn't do something to protect this small blue thing, it would be crushed. Destroyed. Negated. 

And he didn't think he could stand it.

\---  
John stared at Rodney, curled up in a tight ball, tears streaming down his face. Was he asleep? Caught in the grip of some nightmare? Or was he simply in so much pain that he couldn't see that help had arrived...that John was here now?  
The light that led him here, to this out of the way room in an unused section of Atlantis, was starting to flicker urgently. It crackled around the room like a sparkler on speed.   
John ignored it, all his attention on Rodney. He tapped his com, but it wasn't responding. They were either too far off the grid, or the something else was interfering with the link. No matter. He crouched down next to the chair and gently took Rodney's hand. The light flared.  
\-----  
John was flying. No. He was falling…spinning sickeningly toward the ground. No. Toward the sea. No. Not the sea. Blue. Sky blue. No. Deeper than the sky…like...like...indigo.

\----  
John blinked hard. He was still in the strange room. He was still holding Rodney's hand. He squeezed gently, shaking off the strange feeling of ... something. A feeling of presque vu; of almost, but not quite, remembering something. No time for that now. He had to help Rodney. 

No visible wounds, no blood, and he could feel McKay's pulse racing under his touch. Well the stubborn bastard was still alive. He didn't think too hard about how that made him feel. Not now. 

Rodney had stopped weeping silently when John took his hand, but he was still in that dreamlike state. John shook Rodney's shoulder. Gently and first, but harder, more urgently when there was no response.   
"Come on McKay. Don't flake out on me now. I can't raise anyone on the com and I really don't want to drag your ass al the back that corridor." John tried to make his voice strong and commanding; a team leader giving an order. But it shook a little, and he had to pause and draw breath before continuing.

"Dammit Rodney," he had just started when McKay opened his eyes.

"Sheppard, is that you?" His voice was a little weak, but basically normal sounding. "What the hell are you doing in my quarters?" 

OK, John thought, make that totally normal sounding. "Well, hello Rodney" he drawled. "No, no please don't thank me for noticing you had mysteriously vanished, for organizing a search and rescue party and tracking you down in this god forsaken part of Atlantis. No, no thanks needed." 

McKay was looking around wildly, his blue eyes wide and frantic and a little bit irritated.   
"What the hell is going on, John? These aren't my quarters. How did I get here? Where are we? " 

The questions were delivered rapid fire and despite his apparent panic, John could feel Rodney's pulse actually slowing down. Huh. He was still holding Rodney's hand. Neither had pulled away. Huh. 

They sat that way for the entire time it took John to tell Rodney what had happened. McKay blanched a few times, but there were no panic attacks or tirades. When John finished, Rodney didn't look aggravated or offended. He just looked tired.   
John took pity on him, "It's ok buddy. Probably just sleepwalking. Didn't you tell me you used to do that as a kid? Heightmeyer says it can be stress induced and there's plenty of that these days. Just another happy side effect of life in the Pegasus Galaxy."   
He hoisted himself up, reluctantly dropping McKay's hand. "Come on. Let's get back. Teyla's gonna be worried."   
"Really?" Rodney didn't sound convinced, but let John lead him out of the room, his bare feet making no sound on the cool tiles. "I wish we could take that chair. It was really comfortable. My back doesn't hurt at all. Best rest I've had since..." And he cut himself off abruptly.  
John could finish the thought by himself. Since the storm.  
\-----  
It was quite late, or quite early, depending on your perspective when John finally got back to his quarters. He’d seen Rodney safely home and checked with Teyla and Ford, promising the details in the morning briefing. He was surprised to see that only a few hours had passed. Huh. He could still get at a few hours of shut eye. He'd gotten by with much less more times than he could count.   
For a moment, just as he was drifting off to sleep, he thought he saw that weird light flickering just outside his peripheral vision, but before he could focus his mind on the phenomena, he was asleep.  
\---  
John Sheppard has one of those minds where the dreamer knows he is dreaming. He knows it's not real, but is powerless to change the dream, or even to wake himself up. This quirk of DNA, the awareness and helplessness, makes the really good dreams a little less good and the really bad dreams that much more horrible.   
This was one of the bad dreams.   
____  
The dream began with that familiar falling sensation.   
Spiraling down…down…dizzyingly down.

When it finally stopped, John opened his eyes. Before he could get his bearings, however, a wave of sensation and memory crashed over him with the sound and the fury of a tidal wave. They were brutal impressions of pain, loneliness, longing. The awareness which was always with him in his dreams knew these were Rodney’s memories. 

He saw familiar things, horrors from the Pegasus Galaxy that also haunted his own memories: the wraith; a bloody knife; his own face, shockingly pale, with the Iratus bug’s wound still oozing blood and pus; a culled world, still smoldering; a dead child laying in the mud.  
But then the memories shifted: a worn leather belt hanging on a hook; a stairway leading into a dark cellar; people screaming at him, blaming him; silence as the same people refused to acknowledge him, to even look at him; the jagged edge of a broken whiskey bottle; and a trail of small, bloody footprints in the white snow. 

And the worst of all: a hammer crashing down. Wood splintered, ebony and ivory demolished. A child’s hand held down as the blows kept raining down. Blood and bone. Pain. A small indigo Easter egg broken on the floor.

And as all this raged around him, John heard piano music playing in the background. The music started beautifully. Each measure was played with technical proficiency, the song brimming with emotion. It was the most beautiful music John had ever heard.  
But then the player stumbled. Just a small misstep, his fingers tripped on the keys: jarring notes, clumsy timing. The player stopped and started the piece over. Once again it was technically brilliant, but the meaning of the song had changed. It was still powerfully emotional, but love, hope and beauty were drowned out by pain, anxiety and fear.   
Again, the player made a mistake. And then another. He stopped and started again, and again, trying to recapture the lost beauty of his earlier music. But the harder he tried, the more mistakes he made. Eventually, desperate, he concentrated only on the notes, the timing. And he succeeded: technical perfection. But the joy was gone. Even the unhappiness was gone. 

And the player stopped. The music ceased. He closed the fallboard. From then on there was only silence.  
__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from the Suzanne Vega song of the same name.


	5. appoggiatura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney and John ponder recent events.

After John brought him back to his quarters, Rodney sat on his bed and thought. This wasn't unusual. He was rarely not thinking; impossible to shut off his mind. But usually he was thinking about at least two other things, one of them usually a critical,if not life and death problem, while MacGyvering a lifesaving fix out of fried ancient crystals a gum band and sweat. The other thing might also be running for his life. Or runningto save someone else's (usually Sheppard's) life. 

But now he sat on his bed thinking solely about the night's events. And when M. Rodney McKay, PhD. focused his gigantic genius brain on a single problem, it didn't take long for things to start clicking into place. 

First he pondered the state of his feet. His bare feet. Rodney hated being barefoot. Sure, he'd pad around his room wearing thick wooly socks. Or if he was fairly certain that he'd spend the day in meetings, he'd wear the sturdy footwear that was issued to the science department...the kind that resembled a high tech hiking shoe. No one could stand boots all the time, but he actually preferred the tough leather military boots that were standard for all off world teams. 

Now he thought about why. 

Well, for one his feet were always cold. Hmmm...why was that? He didn't have any circulation problems. Carson monitored his cardiovascular health religiously and aside from a tendency towards high blood pressure (and despite the snarky comments that some spiky haired American know it all tended to make about personality types and apoplexy, with his responsibilities it's a minor miracle that he just has tendencies) he was fit. He wasn't diabetic.Nor was he anemic and he certainly wasn't anorexic. 

A quick scan through a medical journal had him briefly worried about a thyroid problem (thinning hair, fatigue) but an illicit peek at his own records showed that Carson monitored that as as well. 

Of course this being the Pegasus Galaxy, he would have to eliminate alien germs, or bacteria, or viruses, or (shudder) parasites. But the standard medical check for all off world personnel returning from off world should catch them. Plus, his feet had been freezing for as long as he could remember. It was just a thing like fair skin and a deadly citrus allergy. He was probably the only kid who was grateful for the socks his grandmother gave him twice a year, every birthday and Christmas. 

Ok he could eliminate the physical causes. Now to environmental. 

The labs were cool and most of the time the jumpers were downright chilly. But when he felt that kind of cold he felt it all over. His lab coat and an extra cup of coffee generally took care of the chill in the lab, and he just accepted the temperature in the jumper. Sure he could adjust the settings, but no one else complained, and it had just become part of the experience. It didn't really register anymore. He only thought about it now because he'd deliberately turned his mind to the matter. 

Aside from that, the rest of Rodney's body threw off as much heat as a small smelting furnace. He was, for once, the sought after teammate when they were forced to camp overnight on the dreary,chilly,rainy planets where it was impossible to light the soaking firewood. He'd seen John and Teyla practically resort to a slap fight over who would share one of the small, snug two person tents with McKay and his legendary body heat. 

He thought more about how he felt off world. Hmmmm....ok there were a lot of variables... The dry heat of desert worlds (he shuddered thinking briefly of the Superwraith planet and all that had been lost there);the ice and snow of "PX - 3107"; the constant drizzle and dampness of 75% of the planets in this galaxy. The startlingly beautiful tropical paradise planet with the lavender sand beaches where John had....hmmmm. 

Ok. Let's consider paradise. The planet was uninhabited. Either the population had moved on ages ago, leaving absolutely no trace, or, as John speculated, the ancients built the Stargate there so they could use the place as a vacation spot. Naturally, Sheppard couldn't wait to hit the beach. 

After checking in with Elizabeth, the rest of his team began frolicking in the waves, laughing, enjoying themselves. After much cajoling, Rodney had been convinced to take of his tac vest and jacket. He even rolled his BDUs up over his knees, but was really really reluctant to take off his boots and socks and go barefoot in the shimmering, perfectly temperate alien sand. Hmmmm....

He sighed deeply. That left psychological factors. Jeanie's English major would probably be delighted at the symbolism of Rodney's cold feet. But no, it's not some bizarre physical manifestation of a fear of commitment. Rodney was afraid of a lot of things, he's really the first to admit it, but commitment wasn't one of them. When he started something, he committed whole heartedly : Science, the Stargate program (why else would he have endured that Siberian exile), the expedition, his team. 

Hmmmm....so not symbolically cold feet. So something troubling his psyche, but in a much more literal sense. The more he tried to wrack his brain, the more frustrated he became. His mind started to wander. The part of his mind that always heard background music when he was on Atlantis, was stuck, like a skipping record. He sighed. His conscious thoughts were wandering now too, the his body had been wandering last night. Sleepwalking around Atlantis. John was right. He had sleepwalked a lot as a kid. Rodney hadn't thought about that in years. And with a snap it all became clear. That night when he was just a little boy...he'd been sleepwalking and somehow got out of the house. 

It was in January and it was bitter cold. Snow was deep on the ground, a layer of ice crusting the surface. The ice sliced through his bare feet. He woke up outside, disoriented and freezing. 

But wait a minute. 

How the hell had John Sheppard know that? Rodney was certain they'd never shared childhood stories (beyond the formative life changing experience that was the original Star Wars trilogy and a fierce debate over the greatest incarnation of Dr. Who ). Rodney locked that part of his life up tight, refused to dwell on it. He hadn't even told Heightmeyer about what growing up was like. So how did Sheppard know? A chime sounded softly somewhere in his head. Could it be? Was Atlantis somehow sharing Rodney's memories with John Sheppard?

\------

John woke up with a start. His heart was pounding. He was sweating, but felt icy cold. His stomach was churning. He knew, he just knew, that what he'd just experienced was more than a nightmare. He knew that somehow Atlantis had let him catch glimpses of Rodney's memories. Actual memories. John felt sick. Not only at the abuse that McKay had endured (and right then and there John vowed that if he ever met Rodney's parents he would make them regret ever ounce of pain they'd inflicted on their child) but at the aching loneliness that permeated the memories. 

John's childhood hadn't been a bed of roses, but he'd always had at least a few friends and it wasn't until their teen years that he and Dave grew apart. And he'd never worried about physical abuse. Abuse. The word felt too small to insignificant. Torture. That child had been tortured by the people who were supposed to take care of him, to protect him, to love him. Not....John ran to the bathroom and threw up. 

After he calmed down, John sat on the floor and thought about what he'd experienced. About what Rodney had experienced...as a kid and what he'd been through these past few weeks. 

John's officer training included recognizing PTSD. He knew McKay had been repressing what happened to him at the hands of Kolyas goons, but it was too easy to get caught up in the next crisis, the next emergency. And if McKay was snappish and short tempered...well that was his personality. And none of the senior staff ever really got enough sleep. The lights on Johns room flickered strangely, breaking off that train of thought. Damn it, John knew the signs were there. But he had no inkling of the type of trauma McKay had suffered in the past. Kolya's torture, while horrific and brutal, was simply the trigger. All that pain. He kept it locked up inside. Never even a hint. 

As John heaved himself up from the floor, intent on tracking Rodney down, he considered that for someone as verbose as McKay to keep such a tight lid on his past, he must have a very good reason. Or at least Rodney thinks he has a good reason. And suddenly, with a flash of insight born of the shared memories, John realized why. It was simply because Rodney believed, really believed, that no one cared.  
\----


	6. Second verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rodney are both trying to get answers to questions that have been plaguing them since the bizarre events of the previous night. Despite Atlantis trying to help, their attempts are frustrated and so are they. They have yet to realize they make better progress when they work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I had a version of this written and then chucked the whole thing. I'm not really happy with this chapter, it seems forced. But I'm posting it in the spirit of Move Along and Get Back to the Good Stuff.

\------  
Despite John's intention to immediately locate McKay, he found himself detouring to the Infirmary. As SGA1 team leader, he had a certain level of access to all of his teams medical files. Maybe there would be something in McKay's records that would shed some light on the man's current state...or at least give John some insight into those dreams. 

Any qualms about sneaking around behind Rodney's back were quashed quickly. He was doing this to help his teammate, his friend, his....hmmmm. John had been literally sickened at what he'd experienced vicariously through McKay's nightmares and he needed to stop it. It was his duty. 

Besides, he thought to himself, doctor patient privilege was rendered rather meaningless here in the wilds of the Pegasus Galaxy anyways.   
Carson might be able to keep your STD or contact dermatitis or overactive bladder secret on a base back on Earth, but here on Atlantis everyone knew all the gory details. And as far as anxiety, eating disorders, drug abuse and depression... who on the expedition didn't suffer from one or more of these? It would be strange if an expedition member wasn't stressed out. 

So John, having convinced himself hat he was in the right, fully expected Beckett to hand over Rodney's records to him. He expected a thousand and two questions, because that was Carson, but he knew he'd get his Intel and then would be able to save..err ... help McKay.

He plastered his most charming grin on his face and sauntered into Beckett's office.   
\----  
Five Minutes Later...

"Absolutely not, Colonel."

"But Carson..."

"No. I know the lines of confidentiality are blurred out here, but there is a clear distinction between you having access to information regarding injuries that happened here in the Pegasus Galaxy, that are directly relevant to an off world teams ability to function and a patients records from back on Earth," Beckett's voice was firm. 

Carson continued, "Every one of us was declared fit for duty by the SGC, which had complete access to medical and psychological histories. So no. That is final."

The doc was as completely immune to John's glare of death as he was to the charm. " No, lad, I won't give you Rodney's records." 

He studied John's face for a few moments and then said in a softer tone, his Scottish burr becoming a bit thick, "I know how difficult Rodney is, John. But he respects you, more than you may know. If you just ask him....no don't make that face at me...if you just ask him, he'll tell you. I doubt he could refuse you anything, at least not for long." 

John looked hard at Carson, realizing the doc had just gifted him with a nugget of precious information. There WAS something in the records then. He knew it. Something from McKays past. But he was no closer to figuring it out. 

Carson gave John a little nudge, "Go on then, get out of my infirmary, unless you need some blood drawn."  
\----

John stalked back to his office, frustrated. Beckett hadn't been swayed by John's reasoned arguments. Not. One. Bit. Perhaps he'd have had better luck if he'd explained about the sleepwalking and the shared dreams. Those horrible...John mentally shied away from thinking too much about it. Huh. Dreams. Maybe he'd gone to the wrong doctor. He tapped his comm.

"Dr. Heightmeyer, this is Colonel Sheppard." He spoke on the private medical channel.   
"Colonel, what can I do for you," came Kate's clear reply.  
"I need to speak to you about a member of the expedition. Question of fitness for off world active duty."  
"Certainly, Colonel. I have appointments until this afternoon. Why don't you come by my office at 4 o'clock."

John gnashed his teeth at the delay, but kept his voice neutral, "OK, doc. See you then."

He paced around the small room a few times trying to collect himself. His eyes lit on his laptop. The light in the room pulsed encouragingly. He sat down, booted up the computer and set to work. 

John was certainly not in McKay's class when it came to hacking, but he wasn't clueless and he did know his way around the system.   
He had senior staff level access to the civilian files , but only Carson had full access to medical records. But with Atlantis on his side, it took John just a few minutes to hack into the SGC-medical database.

Unsurprisingly, McKay's medical file was huge. John sighed silently, mentally preparing himself for gigabytes of allergy tests, saved a copy locally on his laptop (C:sheppard.golf.txt) and backtracked out of the database. 

He knew he was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs a mile wide, but was counting on the old adage better to ask for forgiveness than wait for permission. Of course he'd never gotten much forgiveness in the past, but he thought Rodney would understand. Eventually. 

Sure, he was going to be really pissed off. John could imagine the volcanic proportions of the eruption that was sure to come. But John also knew that Rodney would do the same thing if he thought it would help someone on the team...and really, once you share the horrible nightmare childhood of a guy, you've pretty much lost any claim to privacy. 

Justifications in place, conscious assuaged, John opened up the file and started to read.

 

\------  
Despite, or maybe because of, his nocturnal wandering around the city, Rodney was still the first one to the labs that morning. He wanted to see if he'd be able to retrieve any readings from the area he and Sheppard had been in last night. Focus on the data, on finding tangible answers. 

The rest he locked up tightly, no time for self indulgent introspection, it would just be a monumental distraction. So he brewed a pot of coffee (where had Laughlin found Kona?) and started to review the data. Soon he was lost in the numbers, the energy readings. Hmmmm...this didn't make any sense. Rodney shook his head ,which was starting to ache , and tried to focus. 

Usually when he was working on a problem like these bizarre readings, or some other some quandary of Pegasus Galaxy physics, Atlantis would play a quiet melody to soothe the frustrations and help him work through the issue. Today though, the background music in his head was....well not soothing at all. If he had to anthropomorphize it, he would describe a fidgeting child who was told to sit still on a hard chair and wait for his birthday party to start. Nervous anticipation that something wonderful was going to happen very, very soon. But not soon enough. 

It was driving Rodney nuts. 

Just typical, Rodney thought, I never asked for your help, I never asked for anything nice or reliable or comforting, but you go and give it and as soon as get used to it you snatch it away. Et tu Atlantis. Just. Typical. 

His head continued to throb. He squeezed his temples and brought up the numbers one more time.  
\-----

By the time Zelenka arrived at 7 am, Rodney was practically weeping in frustration. He'd gone over the read outs three times and still they didn't make any sense. He knew he wasn't at the top of his game right now. He was still fighting a huge sleep deficit. He knew that in this state he was prone to missing something, some small but vital detail. He'd been in similar situations so many times before, which is why he was so strict with himself, triple checking his calculations, building in fail safe after fail safe, but something about this time was different. 

He wasn't just fighting exhaustion. He was actually struggling with making any sense of the energy readings.

He simply could not grasp it. The readout from the time he was in that room indicated an extremely high level of high density alpha particles. The numbers peaked as John arrived, but he didn't see anything, or anyone unusual. 

Just when Rodney thought he was going to figure out the correlation, the music in his head would pipe some trilling note and his attention would scatter. 

Oddly when this happened, his traitorous thought would skitter to John: how his hazel eyes would light up when he laughed at a joke; how patient he had been when he was teaching Rodney how to shoot the P90; the music of the glorious chorus that would erupt in his brain when they worked together; the soft sound of his breathing at night on distant planets where strange and wonderful constellations wheeled in the sky...

Gah..it was like trying to hold fog in your hand. Even as a kid, when he hadn't the higher mathematics, he intuitively understood the problems, the theory. Even when he first saw Ancient technology, or even the alien Wraith tech, he'd not felt this all consuming sense of just not getting it. 

He ran his hands through his hair and turned back to the computer, intending to start back at the beginning, when he heard Zelenka clear his throat in a way the man probably intended to be meaningful. 

"What is it Zelenka? Some of us are trying to get important work done."

"McKay, on your best day you are an irritating little man. However, as much as it pains me to admit, even on your worst days, you are generally productive. Clearly, today you are not at your best. Nor even your worst. I have never seen you like this before. Not even after..." He trailed off. 

"You sit here all morning, mumbling over nonsense data. You do not pay attention to what is happening in the big lab, even when Kavanaugh and Simpson nearly come to blows over desalination readings. Clearly you are exhausted. You are doing no one any good right now. Certainly not Atlantis. Certainly not yourself. This is second day in a row that you have been unfit. Leave now, get sleep or I will be forced to notify Dr. Weir. Or even worse I will call the Colonel to forcibly remove you. Drag you like a child to your rooms. For the good of the department."

Rodney sat through all of this with his mouth hanging open. His silence spoke more to Radek than anything else. A fit McKay wouldn't have sat still past "irritating little man" let alone any mention of Kavanaugh, before the tirade of snark started. Most disturbingly Rodney hadn't done more than blink. 

"Last chance McKay. Shall I call the Colonel?"

Rodney shook his head, glared at Radek and stalked out of the lab. Zelenka sighed and went back to work. He'd check in on Rodney in a bit to make sure he hadn't sneaked off into the Chemistry lab, where he had a not-so-secret work space. But now he had puddlejumper shields to reconfigure. Maybe he'd just ask Sheppard to check. He'd call him on the comm in just a minute. Just after he checked this reading...

\----  
Rodney fully intended to go straight to his quarters, take a sleeping pill that he'd wrangled from Heightmeyer after the whole Kolya-Storm- Super Wraith -week -from - hell. But instead he found himself wandering down the dim, abandoned hallway that led back to the empty wing. He entered the room with the amazing chair and kicked off his boots. He curled up on the cushions and within seconds, was fast asleep. 

And once again the dreams started...


	7. Fermata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reads the medical records and confirms what Atlantishas been trying to tell him about McKay's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit references to past child abuse.

John quickly realized that Rodney's medical files were organized chronologically, so he skipped to the back. The older records were scans of handwritten charts and doctors notes, but after Rodney was recruited by the CIA ( at a shockingly young age) the government doctors stared to keep electronic records, making John's task a bit easier. 

Easy...yeah....not really. The files were a chilling, clinical counterpoint to the raw emotion of the dreams. They documented years of neglect and abuse starting almost at birth.

Infant underweight  
failure to thrive   
Pneumonia  
Dislocated right elbow  
Severe bruising  
Concussion  
Severe bruising   
Anaphylactic shock  
Hairline fracture of cheekbone  
Sprained ankle  
Food poisoning   
Severe bruising  
Severe bruising  
Severe bruising

 

And then John opened a file that contained X-Rays and a very detailed report. The X-Rays were of two child sized hands. Rodney's hands. The hands that John would watch covertly during senior staff meetings. The hands that were never at rest: flying across a computer keyboard, manipulating delicate ancient crystals, fingers snapping, pointing, gesturing. Strong hands. Dexterous. Sensitive. Hands that had pulled him to safety, kept pressure on a bleeding wound. Hands that in his dreams had danced over the piano, creating heartbreakingly beautiful music. 

Rodney's hands were so much a part of who he was. They were his means of expression, the part of his body he used confidently, other than his brain of course. These pictures...John couldn't believe that these small, broken, damaged hands were Rodney's. 

He found the date of the X-rays and extrapolated Rodney's age. He'd been eleven. Eleven years old when someone had done this to him. 

The summer that John had been that age, he'd fallen out of an apple tree in his grandfather's orchard and broke his wrist. Even though he tried to be brave, he remembers the excruciating pain, the terrifying moment before adults whisked him away to the emergency room when the pain and fear nearly overwhelmed him. To this day, the smell of apple blossoms caused his wrist to twinge and his stomach to sour. 

At the time, he thought the pain would never end. In reality, it had been well under an hour before he'd been given a shot of pain killer and was treated. He wondered how long it had taken for Rodney to get help. How long had an eleven year old kid waited for help. He thought it probably had come too late. Way too late. He wondered if Rodney thought it would never come. He wondered if Rodney still felt that way. 

His own hands shaking, John turned to the narrative. 

On March 13, 1982, an eleven year old, male, blond, blue eyed, was brought to the University of Toronto Medical Center by Metro police. The minor was accompanied by Metro Officer Phillip Gregg and Mrs. Maria Yesionick (identified as a neighbor of the minor.). No parent or guardian accompanied the minor. 

Minor was in shock and suffering from multiple fractures of the right and left hands, including breaks in both phalanges and metacarpals. 

Minor given IV course of morphine and antibiotics. Fractures were set and cast. 

Exam revealed evidence of prolonged and persistent physical abuse including previously broken collarbone, scarring on the lower back and buttocks, and burn scarring on the sole of the left foot. 

Exam reveals no evidence of sexual abuse.

Exam reveals that minor is underweight with evidence of nutritional deficiencies. 

Allergies: citrus, bees

By court order, minor made emergency ward of the Province of Ontario and admitted to this facility. 

\------  
John finished reading, closed the file and deleted it from his computer. He had his proof. He knew the events of that strange, horrible shared dream really happened; that they happened to McKay. He sat with his face buried in his hands, still struggling with the enormity of it all. He tasted blood, sharp and coppery, and realized that at some point he'd bitten his lip. He touched his finger to his mouth, staring at the bright red stain. He remembered red in the snow, blood on Kolya's knife. Kolya. McKay started withdrawing soon after that debacle. Now it made sense. Being at the mercy of the Genii, being abused by them must have brought back the pain of his childhood. 

He knew he had to talk to McKay about this. He had to help him. Had to let him know he didn't have to go through this alone. He knew he had to...but didn't have a clue how to start that conversation. Right now he was too angry to even face him. He remembered how McKay would flinch away sometimes when somebody was angry. (Not that any stopped McKay from being controversial or backing down from his position.) and it wasn't just anger. Heats debates were par for the course in the Science Department and Senior Staff could get lovely as well. And it wasn't just physical danger. McKay was no soldier, but he could hold his own in a firefight now (and he'd certainly seen more than his fair share of them off world.) 

No, it was the threat of physical or emotional harm in a one-on-one environment, from someone who appeared to hold all the power over Rodney, just like his parents had all those years ago. 

John had always let his actions speak louder than his words and unfortunately the people who had done this to Rodney were in another galaxy. All except for Kolya. Now that sonofabitch could be dealt with. Would be dealt with. 

He spent the next few hours laying the groundwork for a mission against the Genii. He'd have to bring Ford and Bates into the discussion. Then they'd take the plan to Weir, but as military commander it was his call. And he would defend Atlantis. And in a rare moment of emotional honesty, John knew his mission would be in defense of Atlantis, but also as revenge for Rodney. 

John was just about to ask Ford and Bates to join him to plan the mission, when Dr. Heightmeyer called. "Major Sheppard, my last appointment finished early. If you'd still like to talk, come on up to my office."

\-----


	8. Nocturne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This very short chapter picks up with Rodney having wandered back to the abandoned room and drifting off to sleep...perchance to dream.

\----  
Cold. Rodney was cold. He could smell the snow. The bitter wind swirled around him, whipping at his face. His tears froze as they streamed down his cheeks. His lungs burned when he inhaled deeply. Something inside him snapped like a broken icicle. God. Please. Not again. All he felt, besides the cold, was despair. If he would just surrender to the cold, maybe he'd finally be able to rest. He was just so very tired. He could just lay back and sink into this snow drift...float away on this ice floe. 

But tiny, defiant voice (that sounded a hell of a lot like Sheppard) broke through ice. "Buck up McKay. Look around. This isn't Canada. You're not ten years old. It's not Siberia. You aren't alone here. Gather the data. Make observations. Don't make a fatal calculation error. Let me help you with the math." And that was weird. Stupid dreams. Stupid sub-conscience. 

But Rodney was too tired to argue with the voice of dream Sheppard, so he struggled out of the frozen haze and looked around.

Antarctica. Huh.   
And the temperature went up a few degrees and he was warmed by the thrill of discovery. And somebody gave him a soft fleece jacket that was the color of sunshine. And then Carson arrived and gave him a liniment for his hands, which sometimes ached in the cold labs. 

In Antarctica, surprisingly, he was only really cold at night. Alone in a small chilly room, lying awake thinking about wormholes and the quantum mechanics of this universe...and listening. A part of him was listening. Waiting. Anticipating. Something was coming. 

He used to lie awake like this as a kid. Same small bed, same cold room. But those nights he waited, listening in dreadful anticipation and worry. Would loud arguments begin? Would cutting words be hurled around the kitchen? Would glass smash downstairs? Would Jeannie start crying in the room across the hall? Would his door creak open and would the tall, dark shadow of a man fall across the moonlit floor of his bedroom? 

But now, here, at the end of the world, he listened for something else. For a measure of music, for a vaguely remembered song to start playing on a radio in another room. For something good to happen. Something was coming. He was both hopeful and terrified that it was coming for him.


	9. A drum beats out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John continues his strategic fact finding, but will he actually listen to Kate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so very sorry for the delay. I got sucked into the Marvel Universe and have been reading instead of writing. Bad me. I vow to do better for you faithful SGA fans. 
> 
> This is a bridge chapter. It's John's last ditch effort to be armed with everything he can think of before he confronts Rodney.

John was all efficiency and authority in Kate Heightmeyer's office. He was here on behalf of a member of his team (not that she needed to know who, just that he was possibly concerned about someone under his command) and was not leaving without a definitive plan of action. 

He'd approached Kate in this capacity before: once for advice on how to deal with traumatized native people, once for her thoughts on fraternization policy, and a few times when various Marines started acting out of character (Corporal Jarvis was actually manifesting some classic paranoid phobic reaction to being surrounded by water, but Private Bernstein was just possessed by an alien larvae that made him hear voices.) He was not doing this just because it was McKay...no he was not. Definitely Not. 

So as much as Kate might wish to delve into the psyche of Major John Sheppard, she knew probing was futile. She let him describe the behavior of "anonymous," asked a few questions of her own, and did enough to satisfy her conscience, her ethics and her curiosity (no suicidal ideations, not dangerous to others, check, check, check).

Then Kate sat back and studied John. She'd already run through the speech about the overall profile of the Expedition Members.   
"They are all mentally tough. SGC psych screens made sure of it. But, as you might know, experienced soldiers (good, no mention of scientists or civilians, thought John) have endured some terrible things. And we can't predict what triggers a traumatic response. Often it's something sensorial: a smell, a taste, a flash of color. And while back on Earth, or when you're not under constant stress and fear of death, or worse, a person might be able to mitigate the trigger, here, our defense mechanisms are being slowly, and in some cases, not so slowly, eroded."

He nodded and she continued.

"Here in Pegasus it's so easy to feel small, to feel like all your strength and smarts and hard work are meaningless. You feel like you are struggling to hold back the tide. That you are alone and insignificant in the universe." 

Well, thought John, McKay might feel alone...but insignificant? Doubtful.

That's why it's important to foster community. To stay connected. To make friends, take lovers, join groups. Be part of something. Encourage your men and women to stay connected with each other and with the civilians. Isolation is the enemy."

John frowned, thinking this went beyond Rodney joining a chess club, but Kate was still talking.

"Just as important is to turn off for awhile. Relaxation, down time ... yes, I know it's hard, but people need to let go. And try to keep recreational drugs, including alcohol, to a minimum. Yes, I know you know what the botanists are doing in lab six...and Drs. Weir and McKay have already given the chemists an ultimatum..." She trailed off looking a bit sheepish. She had built up quite a head of steam, John was amused to observe. She sounded like someone who'd wanted to give that speech for a long time.

She paused and then finished quietly, "And of course I am always here for anyone who needs me." She smiled and John thought maybe Kate Heightmeyer was one of the loneliest people on the expedition. Huh. Maybe he'd ask Teyla to take her to lunch or something.

She looked at him, lips pursed thoughtfully, "One last thing Major. Even though I am always here for any member of the Expedition, for various reasons people may be uncomfortable seeing me in a professional capacity. There, unfortunately, is a stigma attached to my profession and ...well...sometimes it is easier to open up to a trusted friend." 

John didn't like the way she was eyeing him...too knowing...to compassionate. Time to me this fact finding mission.

"Well thanks, Doc. This has been quite helpful." He stood and nodded, and did not flee the room. No, he is quite certain he strolled casually down the corridors of the transporter.

"Ok,"he thought, "pretty much what I expected...now...into the breach."  
And he stepped inside the transporter, took a deep breath, thought of Rodney and let Atlantis whisk him away.


	10. Plainsong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally...

Warnings for angst, past childhood trauma, extremely bad parenting, canon style violence. It will get slashy from here on out as well. Just a little bit. 

The title is from the Cure's amazing song of the same name. In my head canon its kind of Rodney's theme.  
\------

When John stepped out of the transporter he was unsurprised to find himself in the same forgotten corridor that Rodney had wandered into the night before. (Just the night before!) He hurried down the long hall, not quite running, but moving fast. 

His heart was beating like he'd run all the way from Kate's tower office on the other side of the City. He could feel Atlantis thrumming urgently along with him and that, more than anything, made him worry. He hadn't felt the City this anxious since Kolya and the Genii had invaded. 

As if reading his mind, Atlantis flashed images of Kolya at him: Kolya with a gun pointed at Weir, and Rodney stepping between them; Kolya gesturing at a goon to start cutting; thrusting Rodney out over the railing at the grounding station...so far out over the crashing waves. Then the face changed and it wasn't the Genii madman, but a pudgy faced, balding man with McKay's shockingly blue eyes. John felt the cold, the terror. He felt Rodney's despair. He felt his heart breaking. 

But it wasn't a memory. It was now. Wherever Rodney was..where are you McKay...just hang on..I'm coming...he thought desperately...wherever Rodney was he was in pain. He was freezing and suffering and alone. John stopped pretending and broke into a run.  
\-----  
He was trapped. The ice cold darkness was pressing in all around him and he couldn't get out. It was as cold as Antarctica, but it didn't smell right. There was a salty, marine smell in the air, with an acrid ozone layer that reminded Rodney of lightening. It wasn't damp, like the root cellar of his grandmother's house, where Jeannie had locked him once, when he refused to let her hold his blue egg. But it was dark like that. And the terror he felt was the same; so were the questions that raced through his mind:  
Why am I here? Am I alone? What was that sound? Why is it so cold? When will someone come let me out? 

And after a very,very long time, when he didn't know if he was shaking from the cold or from fright, Will anyone ever come for me?

And when a sliver of light appeared at the top of the cellar stairs, when he should have felt relief that his ordeal was over, but instead, illuminated the figure of his father glowering down at him, What did I do wrong? How have I disappointed you this time? How have I failed?

And even longer after that, when he was sliding into unconsciousness, Why?

\----  
As John raced down the long dark corridor, he felt the temperature dropping. By the time he got to the suite where he'd found Rodney before, he could see his breath. What the hell is going on? He wondered. It was bizarre, even for Pegasus, this was bizarre. He mentally screamed at Atlantis to Open The Damn Door Now! and crashed into the room. At first he thought he'd come to the wrong spot. Rather than the cool, dimly lit suite he remembered from the night before, the room was pitch black and freezing cold. He thought the lights on, but nothing happened. He took out the small mag lite he carried and shone it around. 

John heard Rodney before he saw him. He heard a soft whimper that was quickly choked off. He zeroed in on the place the sad sound came from and finally, finally saw him. And even though John wasn't expecting anything good, the sight of McKay huddled in the corner of the balcony, knees drawn to his chest, with his arms held protectively over his face, shocked him. It shocked him and scared him. He'd never seen McKay look so vulnerable, not even on the long jumper flight home from the SuperWraith planet, with Brendan's body as a terrible reminder of another loss, had Rodney look so destroyed. 

John kneeled down in front of his friend and took his hand. It was icy cold. Rodney was shaking, but whether from the cold or from some strong emotion, John couldn't tell. Hell, probably both. He started rubbing Rodney's arms, the thin, short sleeved material of his uniform shirt doing nothing to keep him warm. And goddamnit, the man's feet were bare. No wonder he was shivering. He's probably in shock. 

"Hey Buddy. It's me." John spoke softly, but firmly, trying to bring McKay back with the sound of his voice and touch of his hands. "Whatcha say we go someplace a little bit cheerier? Someplace warmer?" 

To John's relief, McKay didn't flinch or pull away,but he didn't respond to John either. He just moaned and bit down on his lip the little trickle of blood garishly scarlet against his too-pale face. 

John reached up to wipe the blood from Rodney's face. He let his thumb linger on Rodney's bottom lip, gently rubbing and soothing. Rodney, though he didn't make a sound, leaned tentatively into the touch; unconsciously seeking comfort and warmth. 

Slightly encouraged, John scooted closer, gathering Rodney in his arms and tucking his feet under John's legs. Keeping his voice low and steady (even though he was breaking to pieces inside) John murmured softly, nonsense, meaningless words, the way he'd gentle skittish colts back at home. He keeping a running commentary that he hoped would soothe Rodney and anchor him to this place and to John. 

\-----  
Rodney heard something in the darkness. He tried to be as still as possible; tried to make himself small so whatever it was would leave him alone. But he couldn't keep still. He was shaking too hard, from the cold, from exhaustion, from fear. It was coming closer. What was it? Kolya? A Wraith? Was it Him? 

He saw a light bobbing around, sweeping the room, searching. Rodney screwed his eyes closed and tucked his head in his arms. He couldn't bear to see Him approach. Knowing it was coming was hard enough. A moan escaped. He cursed himself and bit his lip to keep more noise from slipping out. Too late. The light flashed over him. He was discovered. 

Whoever it was, whatever it was was right next to him. It reached out...but instead of pain there was warmth. It was so unexpected that he leaned into the touch. It felt so good. Something tightly wound inside Rodney eased slightly. Then he heard soft murmuring sounds, soothing, easy words that drew him up out of the darkness. He knew that voice. He trusted that voice. 

"John?" Rodney whispered, "is it really you?"  
"Yeah, buddy. It's me." John was so relieved that his voice trembled a bit. "What do you say we get out of this place? Find somewhere a bit less Hoth-like." He tried to keep his voice and his touch light, even though all he wanted to do was snatch Rodney up and drag him out of this dark place. 

"What are you doing here, John? You shouldn't be here." Rodney was still whispering, still leaning against John, but he was getting a little frantic, starting to nudge John away. "If He finds out ....not supposed to talk to anybody...if He sees you he'll hurt you too!" 

Rodney was in a full blown panic now. Trying to shove John away, trying to make him go. Luckily, Major John Sheppard was not easily budged. He grabbed Rodney's hands, still gently, but firmly this time, and pulled him close. 

"Rodney. Rodney. Look at me. It's just you and me here, buddy. We are in Atlantis. No one else is around...He (the word stuck in his throat) is far away, on the other side of the Universe. He can't hurt you. He's not here. And I wouldn't allow it."

"Really?" Rodney's voice was small and so unlike himself that John's heart broke a little. "It's not a trick?"

"Really. I promise."

"Oh." Rodney shuddered, but in relief, not fear. In the light cast by the flashlight, his eyes were very big and very blue. He was looking at John like he was afraid to believe even though he wanted to so very badly. "No one ever came for me before." 

John took him by the shoulders and turned him so he was looking directly into those eyes, directly into his soul. "Rodney. I will always come for you." And then he kissed him. 

Xxxxx


	11. In the Key of A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They kissed! What happens next...

A delicious feeling of warmth slowly spread through Rodney. It was snuggling beneath a white down comforter on a chilly autumn morning. It was holding a steaming mug of cappuccino; sitting by the fireplace with his cat in his lap. It was the smell of cinnamon. It was John's grin. Rodney hummed contentedly and pushed toward the warmth. He was greedy for it, craved it. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to wake from this amazing dream. It was the best he'd had in weeks...months...ever. And he didn't want to wake up. So he kept his eyes closed and just felt. 

Eventually (inevitably) his back twinged and the floor became uncomfortable and he had to shift. In doing so, he broke contact with the warmth and heard someone talking. So, reluctantly, ever so reluctantly, Rodney cracked one eye open and peered around.

It was dark, but he sensed he was in that abandoned room in Atlantis. Rodney vaguely remembered stumbling here, aiming for that comfortable chair, hoping to catch a few hours of dreamless sleep. But as he was sitting in the corner by an open balcony door he'd obviously missed the mark. Shepard would probably tease him about it later, but oddly Rodney didn't mind. Sheppard. The warm feeling flooded back through him. 

And then Rodney's world tilted and came crashing off its axis.

John was sitting right there. He was holding John's hand. He was pressed up against the man with his head comfortable perched on his shoulder. Until a few seconds ago they had been... He had... Touching him...kissing....oh god.   
\------

"Well, this is unexpected,"John thought. He'd intend to track down McKay, talk to him a bit, a pep talk of sorts to let the guy know he was a valuable member of the team. He'd planned on, somehow, letting him know he knew about his past...in a way that didn't make him sound (a) insane or (b) creepy. He'd meant to be reassuring, strong, the epitome of a good leader. A good friend. 

Instead John had given in to a desire he'd barely acknowledged. And he'd given in fast. And that kiss...well it had warmed the room up awfully quick. Rodney had really responded, which was ....unexpected. Very cool, but unexpected. None of it had been part of the plan; the plan which John would have been happy to abandon. He'd have been quite content to chuck it off the balcony into the churning sea below if it meant he got to keep kissing Rodney.

It was going so well, but then Rodney opened his eyes...and he'd flinched. Normally, that reaction would have had John in full retreat, backing off explaining about the frigid temperature in to room, huddling together for warmth, fear that Rodney was hypothermic. There would be a sarcastic comment from McKay about warming up his lips but they'd go back to work, repressing the whole thing. 

But as there was absolutely nothing normal about this situation, John just sat still. He stayed mere inches away from Rodney, who was breathing like he'd been chased ten miles by a horde of pissed off villagers. Hmmmmm. He didn't let go of his hand either. In fact, Rodney may even be gripping it tighter. And that flinch. That wasn't a flinch that said "oh my god the military commander of Atlantis and my team leader just tried to molest me in my sleep and it's really disturbing and I want out but he can out run me and can kill me with his broken left pinkie finger" kind of flinch. 

No, it was the same flinch McKay gave, usually accompanied by a transparent look of guilt, when he'd been caught doing something. Not the type of something that any normal human being would feel guilty about, like snagging the last Earth cupcake from Teyla's dinner tray. Nor was it the self conscious guilty flinch of the "had to slide down that ravine to pull a couple of Pegasus-kittens out of a muddy hole before they starved thus unwillingly proving that I am not always an unfeeling jerk and if you tell anyone I will kill you with my mind" flinch. 

No this was different. It was a flinch that, until right this very moment, had confused John. John was usually very adept at reading Rodney. It's why they get along so well. John can see through the bluster and the arrogance, the surface. And sometimes there is only arrogance or bluster lying beneath, but sometimes there is bravery and kindness and a determination to do the right thing.

But this flinch...it was elusive. He'd seen it a few times before: when the little girl with the curly hair on the Lord of the Flies planet wouldn't let McKay leave without giving him her rag doll "to keep her safe from the Wraith back in his science lab" (The dolly was tucked into a drawer along with a picture of his sister, a small polished wooden box, and Gaul's Expedition ID tags.) 

John had also seen This Flinch after Kolya and the Storm. Even after the danger had passed, they'd all been stuck in the command room while they waited for the electric charge to dissipate from the corridors. Teyla had scrounged several blankets and MREs from the jumpers, so, with nothing to do but wait out the storm, they'd eaten and then tried to make themselves comfortable with the blankets. 

Everyone but Rodney. He kept fussing with the sensors, checking and rechecking data. Normally Carson would have forced him to stop, to eat and rest, but the doc was dozing, still not himself after getting whacked on the head by Sora. 

Finally after a few hours had passed, with the might of the storm passed, and just rain pouring down outside, everyone but John and Rodney was sound asleep. John sat in the corner, keeping an eye on McKay, who still looked too pale. Rodney had stopped working as was just standing in front of the life signs monitor. His eyes were faraway and his mouth slanted unhappily downwards. John was just about to speak when Rodney inched over to the stack of blankets. He reached out tentatively to take one when John coughed slightly. And Rodney Flinched. He looked over at John with a guilty expression and scampered back to his computer, where he remained until they could safely bring their people back a few hours later.

At the time John hadn't given it much thought. McKay could be twitchy at the best of times...which this Definitely Was Not. Then it was on to the next disaster and he'd forgotten all about it.

Now, whether through Kate Heightmeyer inspired insight, or a trick of Atlantis, he recognized it for what it was. It was Rodney really wanting something. Not a Nobel Prize, or beating John at chess or chocolate cupcake kind of wanting, but something more visceral. It was wanting to be be warm and dry after a harrowing experience. It was wanting a gentle touch, a passionate kiss. And it was the expectation, the belief that it would be snatched away and being told it was never yours to want in the first place.

Two days ago John couldn't have seen it, let alone understood it. Now, after bizarrely experiencing Rodney's nightmares, getting a view into the childhood that he kept locked away, John understood only too well. Now he had to figure out how to fix it. Because John also wanted something. He wanted Rodney.   
\-----


	12. A Brief Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more about how Atlantis herself fits into this saga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't too far off the beaten path. It's my attempt at explaining how and why Atlantis set this all in motion. For such a powerful entity, she's a bit unaware of the emotional toll this is having on the boys. It's an attempt to reassure that she means well, but can't fully comprehend the repercussions.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, just as a reminder Lightbringer is Atlantis' name for John. Rodney is her Musician.

Atlantis doesn't feel emotions per se. There are approximations...very close approximations, in fact, but she doesn't feel. Not really. There are ranges of efficiency of operation: optimal; sub-optimal, but with in tolerance; poor; and system critical. You could say that when her systems are stable there is contentment. You could, if you had a whimsical frame of mind, equate low ZPM power with being cranky and tired; danger from the Wraith, or the Genii with fear and rage.  
You could analogize the observation and recording of Rodney's breakdown to a slide into despair of her own. But you'd be wrong. 

You would be wrong, because as advanced as the Ancients were, they weren't a race that valued emotional reaction. They saw emotions as a weakness, as a barrier to ascension. Something to be overcome, set aside, conquered. So when they created this sentient being named Atlantis, when they designed her to support and fulfill their purpose, they deliberately did not code for feelings. Heart rate, blood oxygen levels, hormone irregularities, nutritional deficiencies, sleep-wake cycle ratios were all accounted for and monitored. But she didn't, she couldn't, she doesn't account for melancholy, loneliness or joy. 

Over time, however, like any sentient being, Atlantis evolved. She was able to distinguish between a heart rate that was elevated during a sparring session to a heart rate that was elevated during sex. She had enough data to correlate certain temporal events (birthdays, anniversaries, holidays) with corresponding behavior (laughing, smiling, singing) that she understood to be optimal. But she had no notion of nostalgia. 

She knew that when the populace was not starving, weary or physically injured they were more efficient and better able to tend to her systems. But she didn't understand the pride that they took in their work. 

When the last of the Alterrans left the Pegasus Galaxy 10000 years ago, and she was alone, she knew that this was not optimal. She knew something vital was missing. But she wouldn't have been able to give a name to this. She would have scoffed, if she was capable of scoffing, at the notion of loneliness. 

She knew that together, Lightbringer and Musician helped her attain better efficiency, to work properly, to fulfill her purpose. And she was aware that their mental and physical conditions bore a direct impact on their ability to do so. They did everything in their power to protect, understand and learn from Atlantis So it was only logical that Atlantis would do the same for them. 

She knew that their biological systems were optimal when they were together and so she contrived for them to be with each other as often as their primary tasks allowed. She recorded and analyzed the decline in her Musician's physical and mental status after the Others invaded. She observed his dreams as easily as she observed corporeal actions. She noted the cause and the effect. He was heading towards a system failure. It was unacceptable. 

She'd tried to steer him to a quite place where he could regain optimal status, but she had not accounted for the numerous traumatic variables from his past. She had unwittingly exacerbated the pain that had been triggered by Kolya and his knife. 

After observing her precious one wandering the halls, unshod, disheveled and confused, she reflected that it was fortunate she could not empathize with him, or the Genii homeworld may have been erased from existence. 

Atlantis tried to influence him, with music, with mathematics...but he'd built a strong firewall and she couldn't do it alone. Again she acknowledged that being a creature of pure logic was optimal. Otherwise she may have succumbed to the inefficient feeling of Frustration.

Lightbringer was easier to influence. He didn't move quickly. He had to plan and examine all contingencies. But she could so easily share the Musician's dreams with her chosen. She could influence those from whom he sought advice and information. She could manipulate the atmosphere of the City at a subatomic level that only Lightbringer could sense to draw the two together. 

And as she observed and recorded the two finally coming together physically, even if for a brief instant, for the first time, she reflected that it would be optimal to feel happy for them.


	13. Vibrato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where we left off with the boys...John had just kissed Rodney. Predictably, McKay freaked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have encouraged me. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has stuck with the boys. We're almost to the end.

Before Rodney could bolt from the room, John put both hands on his shoulders and basically crawled onto his lap, sitting on him and keeping him in place. Whether from shock, exhaustion or utter defeat, he was pleased to see that McKay stopped squirming and just sat there, gazing at John like he was a ghost.

But the temperature on the room wasn't plummeting, so John figured Rodney wasn't terrified. Confused? Most definitely. Pissed? Well, that was better than terrified. He rubbed Rodney's shoulders, for a while unable to break contact, thinking about what to say. 

After a few minutes, the temperature in the room was back to normal for Atlantis and the lights were on. They were dim, not harsh, but John could see McKay clearly. He looked confused and vulnerable. 

His voice firm but gentle and soothing (he hoped), John started talking, "Hey buddy. It's me." Rodney nodded, but remained silent, unMcKay-like. 

When John had grasped his shoulders he'd dropped his hands, wringing them nervously. The sight of it made something inside John twist uncomfortable. Rodney's hands, so expressive, so competent. He wanted to think about what those hands would look like dancing on a piano keyboard. He wanted to think about what those hands would feel like moving over him. But first they had to move past images of X-rays and claw hammers and the shattering of delicate, precious things.

He started to slide his hands off Rodney's shoulders, but didn't want to spook him. He looked down and raised and eyebrow in inquiry. As so often was the case, Rodney intuitively knew what he was asking and nodded quickly. They reached out together and held hands. If Rodney was clinging a little desperately to John, the major was certainly not going to complain. 

John decided to just plunge right in. He gone slowly this whole time, treading so carefully, unsure of how to proceed. Enough. The lights flickered encouragingly. He began to move his thumb in little circles around Rodney's knuckles. He could feel him relax a bit. 

"I've been worried about you, buddy. No, come here, don't ... Please ...don't pull away, I need you to be here."  
At the last, Rodney settled and stilled. 

"Because I've been concerned. I learned a lot these past few days. Hard stuff that I don't like and wish didn't happen."

Now McKay was still as a mouse, waiting for a snake to strike. His eyes were bright and ever so blue.

"As much as I NEVER thought I'd be saying these words, much less that I'd need to say them to ...you ... we need to talk." McKay's eyes widened to platter proportions. "Will you hear me out? Please."

Rodney cleared his throat and tried to speak, but his voice cracked and the words wouldn't come. So he nodded and shyly brushed his own thumb against John's in answer.

"I know it's been bad since Kolya. What he did to you..." John trailed off thinking of the deep cuts, the nerve damage, the sense of dread that he felt thinking about Rodney without the use of his hand. And then the sheer relief when Carson and Biro were able to activate the Ancient medical device that healed him in a matter of hours. 

"And then you barely had a chance to catch your breath when we lost Abrams and Gaul." He stopped and pressed a kiss to Rodney's temple, taking comfort as well as giving it. "And I should have been a better friend, a much better team leader, and made sure you were ok."

Rodney was shaking his head, a rueful expression on his face, like John was sadly missing something obvious. He opens his mouth and took a deep breath, but John silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"Please, please don't say it. I know that Pegasus is entirely fucked up and that we are so ill prepared and just flailing around here. I know that. But I failed you Rodney and you've been suffering because of it. And I am so sorry. Because at the end of it all...Whatever that end may be...in the end we only have each other." 

And this was the hard part. He could stop right here and never speak of the dreams. He could pretend he didn't know about dark cellars and wicked belts and shattered dreams. It might be the easy thing to just leave it (easier for both of them) but it wasn't the right thing to do. And John Sheppard was not going to be the next of many who hadn't done right to Rodney McKay.

So he took a deep breath and started to talk about the strange hints he was getting from Atlantis, about following the lights to this room, about talking to Radek and Carson and Kate. Rodney looked confused, but intrigued. John laughed a little bit. Of course the puzzle of Atlantis playing games with them would intrigue Rodney. It gave his big ole brain something to work on while they slogged through the rest of this mess. 

"But McKay. Rodney. There's more."  
Rodney looked up at the deadly serious tone. John had his undivided attention.  
"Rodney. I know what happened to you as a kid. I know about your father. About the piano. The sleepwalking. The injuries. I know all about it."

The temperature in the room immediately plummeted. John could see his breath. Frost crackled across the stained glass windows. Rodney hadn't moved, but John could feel his pulse racing. He kept a firm grip on Rodney's hands willing him to trust John and not pull away.

Rodney stared at him for a time that stretched to infinity.  
Finally, he whispered, his voice low and rough and full of raw emotion, "How? How do you know?" 

And matching his voice to Rodney's John told him about the bizarre set of circumstances that had led them to this. He told him about the dreams and hacking into medical and personnel records. 

"I know it was the ultimate invasion of your privacy, but Rodney, it was the only way I could be sure. I knew you wouldn't tell me. I didn't even think you were consciously aware of what you'd been dreaming about...and I couldn't just come to you out of the blue and say, Oh by the way,I had this weird dream about your horrific childhood, I see now why you suck at social interaction and have defense mechanisms so deeply ingrained that it would take a naquada bomb to shake them loose."

He took a shaky breath, "and I owe you for that...but Rodney. I would do it all again if I needed to. Because even if you end up hating me, I will never abandon you. Never.. And please don't punch me...Rodney. I love you. I think I always have. "  
Xxxxxxx


	14. Tempo change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney doesn't trust the data. Cue some serious overthinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter reminded me how much I love Rodney  
>  McKay. And how much I love and appreciate all of you. Thanks for reading!

Rodney stared at John for a long time. He'd processed this surprising new data (lots of new data!) but didn't trust the conclusion. Ok. Basic methods. Get an odd result, review your facts, verify your process.

1\. John had been worried about him recently: Ok. Not completely unbelievable. Rodney had been on shaky ground after the Storm and the Superwraith. Not in the field or the lab, but he'd been more irritable than usual in meetings. He'd been ducking the team. In hindsight, Rodney could see where his behavior could be seen as...troubling. Ok. Sure. Rodney is a valuable member of the team and indispensable to the Expedition. An astrophysicist who can't function at full strength in a hostile alien galaxy is useless. Of course Major Sheppard would protect an asset. 

But.... there was the perplexing tendency for the members of his team to do little considerate things for him even when he wasn't losing his shit. Teyla never burned the stinky incense that aggravated his allergies when he was scheduled for a bantos lesson. Ford gave him all the credit for improving the design of those flash grenades from PX-730123, even though all Rodney did was implement the kid's not stupid ideas. Outliers, but he couldn't dismiss the data. 

And John. John is so far out of the normal distribution that Rodney hadn't factored him into the equation. Hmmmm. John. Cups of the good coffee on chilly mornings in the lab. Dragging him out of the lab to get some sleep, or barring sleep, some fresh air on the balcony or pier. Shooting lessons in the early days (he'd been so patient.) Making sure everyone on the team carried an epi-pen and knew how to use it. Always waiting for him in the infirmary, whether Rodney was there for standard monthly blood work, post mission check ups or for the more serious injuries like chemical burns and concussions and poisonings and stabbings. He always waited. 

Rodney had never studied these things in the aggregate. But the quantitative and qualitative results indicate that, yes, as unfamiliar the concept of somebody worrying about him was, Rodney could trust that datapoint, reasoning process and conclusion: John was worried about Rodney.

2\. John believed he had failed Rodney: No. Just. No. John had, obviously, through a series of unscientific, faulty reasoning come to erroneously believe he'd ...somehow... let Rodney down.   
First of all, no one would even be here in Atlantis without John Sheppard and his phenomenal ATA gene. So first off, Rodney McKay wouldn't even be sitting here in this admittedly odd place, which was the best place he'd ever been or dreamed of being, without Sheppard. So not a failure. 

John had mentioned Kolya. Goddamn that man. How could he think for one second that he'd done anything other than save the City and Elizabeth and Rodney too that horrible day. Yes, yes, Kolya had tortured Rodney. Yes, it was something he'd rather forget (and had been trying desperately to forget) but was in no way John's fault. He wasn't holding the knife. He hadn't been in the room and not stopped it from happening. He hadn't laughed about it later, or yelled at him for being a coward, or made light of the wounds. No. John's face had gone cold and hard when Elizabeth told him what had happened. Rodney had felt so ashamed. He was the one who had failed. Not John. 

So, datapoint 2, John failing Rodney, in any conceivable way, is simply ...wrong. 

3\. John knew about Rodney's past: it's at this point that the data is unreliable. Not that John is unreliable. Not at all. But dreams? Come on. Even here on Atlantis, even in Pegasus it would take the merging of synaptic ....hmmmmm...ok so it was possible. Beckett and Heightmeyer were going to spontaneously orgasm when they found out. Which of course they would. McKay would tell them himself. This is a huge breakthrough in the understanding of Atlantis and the gene and biochemistry and neural interfacing...

But yes, John knows all about the past. He even got Rodney's supposedly secure redacted medical file to prove it. And when they reconnected with Earth you can be certain that Rodney McKay was going to have a sharp word with the SGC's Information Governance people. Ok. Datapoint 3 confirmed. 

4\. John loves him. And his brain went offline. It was too much to think about right now. He'd accept it. Or at least accept that John might believe that at this moment, while under the dubious influence of a sentient Atlantis, after an emotionally draining experience, that he loved Rodney (probably like a friend, supposedly, loves another friend.). For the time being he would just accept it. Well...for the time being he wouldn't question it. He wouldn't pick it apart looking for the flaw, for the false assumption, for the bad data. 

John loves him!

Peripherally, Rodney was aware of Atlantis humming happily: a little melody that was growing louder and more complex (and did he detect a hint of smugness?) as he'd worked his way through the query. 

All this took about 20 seconds to process and each phase showed clearly on Rodney's face. John sat still, watching. It reminded him of those animated flip books he had as a kid. Flutter the pages real quick to watch the hand drawn cartoon figure walk, run, fly...fall. 

He was painfully aware that he was still sitting in Rodney's lap. It was a very comfortable lap, literally speaking. If he wiggled just a bit...like that and wrapped his legs around ...there. Much better. They fit together nicely. Comfortable. 

"Rodney. Will you tell me what happened? I have these images, these flashes of memory...but maybe if you tell me I can help."

Rodney blanched, but gave a jerky nod.  
"Alright. But can we get off the floor first? As wonderful as you feel...oh god did I say that out loud? Ummm...my back is killing me and I need drink of water and frankly this room is starting creep me out."

John smirked. At last a hint of His Rodney. "Sure, buddy. Let's head back to the mess. We can grab some food and then go to...my quarters? Yours? Oh, hey...the pier. "

Rodney returned the smirk. "Fine....fine...whatever you want."   
And they walked down the corridor, hand in hand, with music trilling in his head. 

John loves him!  
Xxxxxxx


	15. Sometimes the truth doesn't have to hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney tells John about his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for past abuse, violence, neglect.

Can you imagine what it feels like?  
Somebody you love so much.  
Somebody you hope loves you too.  
And when he ...finally...takes your hand.  
He's holding it gently.  
Stroking your hand, even rubbing circles around the knuckle of you thumb.  
It feels good.  
So good.  
But it's not just the physical that feels good.  
He does care.  
This is proof.  
\----

That's what I remember about that day, John. I really don't remember what came next. The police told me he had a hammer that he used to smash the piano and then every bone in both my hands. But that's not what hurt...well of course it hurt, think about what that maniac did...but when I let myself think about it...self analysis not being my strong point...when I let myself think about it I realize what an idiot I was. He was never going to love me. And every time I started to think....maybe this time...it just hurt more when the proof literally slapped me in the face.

My sister and I were in foster care for a week, until my mother finished her European tour. My grandmother, dad's mom, didn't want anything to do with us and the authorities wouldn't let Mrs. Yesionik keep us. She came every day to the group home though. Brought us books and pastry. She died when I was in Siberia. I couldn't get leave to go to the funeral. I guess they thought I'd bolt. Don't know why. Siberia was awful, but the work was essential to establishing a stable wormhole. I'd be there still if the Antarctic base hadn't been discovered. 

But I digress...Mother returned home and promptly packed us up and relocated to British Columbia. She'd been offered a position with the Vancouver Symphony.It was the end of spring so she pulled us from school, neither of us needed the next 3 weeks anyways. And what would I have done in a classroom with two broken hands? So I said good my to Mrs. Y and the stray cat that hid out under the shed and we left. I didn't even have to come back for the trial. Dad took the first deal the government offered. I never saw him again.

Mom and Jeannie thrived in Vancouver. Jeannie made friends right away. She was happy and when she is happy, Jeannie lights up the room. Mom was doing really well at work and we were old enough and responsible enough to take care of ourselves. We never talked about what happened. None of us wanted to. 

That first summer was great. My hands were healing really quickly, but obviously I wasn't capable of my usual diversions. No chess, no video games, no engineering projects. But I had a telescope and a radio and the public library had a great collection of movies. 

When school started in the autumn, my hands were good as new. I'd tested in to 11th grade and a year later was applying to university. The past was in the past and dwelling on it wasn't going to serve any purpose. 

And I think you know the rest. Undergrad, masters (3 by the way) and double PhDs. I worked for the CIA for several years and then at Area 51...until the Stargate was discovered. Never had one incident of PTSD. Not one. I never even thought about him. And here I am in the Pegasus Galaxy. And after all I've done and seen, it's some nut with a knife...

Well, you can't send me back. Not until we find a ZPM. And broken or not, I'm still your best hope of getting one. So. What are you going to do with me, Major?  
\----

John looked at him for a long time. He saw the surface: the receding hairline, the slanted mouth, the blue (so blue) intelligent eyes. He saw below the surface: the desire to win, to be good, to help. And he saw deeply: the pain, the passion. He saw all of Rodney and he loved him.  
He just had to make Rodney believe it. Not just accept it for the time being...but really really believe it.

"What am I going to do with you?" He was part incredulous and part giddy. "That is a damn good question." He pulled Rodney close and nibbled at his neck and ear. "But what I want do do with you right now is get you back to your room, where your special extra firm, comfy, medically necessary mattress is calling." He nibbled some more and Rodney gulped, not expecting this at all.

"I want to tuck you in, curl up next to you and keep you safe and warm while you sleep." He whispered roughly in McKays ear, "and when you wake up I want you."


	16. Move to the music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last...

For a long while, John watched Rodney sleep. They'd bunked together countless times-in tents, in the jumper, in huts, and off world inns, hostels and caves. Once there was even a tomb...happily not theirs. He knew McKay was a noisy, restless sleeper, as if he just couldn't shut down completely. So it was a testament to how truly exhausted he was that Rodney barely moved, even when John carefully...so carefully ... eased down next to him, spooning, getting close.

He indulged himself and allowed himself to gaze at Rodney for hours: the impossibly long eyelashes (and what is with the eyelash fixation?!) the slightly swollen lower lip (swollen from John's kisses?) 

Desire uncurls do in the pit of his stomach and he very badly wanted to reach out and touch Rodney. But he doesn't dare for fear of waking him. So he watched and waited.

\-----  
The first thing Rodney noticed when he woke up was that for the first time since the Storm, he didn't have a headache. Secondly, he heard Atlantis humming happily in the back of his mind. He grinned and stretched like a contented cat. Then he noticed the third ....thing. John Sheppard was pressed up against him, lips softly moving on his neck and, unless he was very much mistaken, which he wasn't, because, Hello! Still a genius! John's very erect cock was pressing against Rodney's ass. Please don't be a dream....please don't be a dream.

"Hi Rodney," John whispered, his voice low. He shifted a little bit and the movement felt...delicious.   
"Ummmm, hi yourself." 

"I made you a promise last night." He started to move his hips slowly, as if in counterpart to the music Rodney thought only he could hear. It was sultry, the sound of a smoke filled jazz club fills with gorgeous people drinking champagne while Nina Simone's voice broke your heart.

Rodney gulped and pressed back into John.  
"And I always keep my promises."

And suddenly Rodney found himself on his back gazing up into John's eyes. His pupils were blown wide open. Only a thin ring of the most beautiful green remained. The sight of those eyes, evidence that John wanted him nearly undid Rodney. 

John's fingertips were delightfully calloused, both from hours on the range and hours playing the guitar. He traced around Rodney's mouth, his thumb gentle, but the roughness of the skin causing just enough friction to make Rodney moan. 

John's hands moved lower. Stopping to feel the pulse in Rodney's neck. His lips followed his hands. Teasing, tasting, savoring. 

John worked his way down Rodney's body. Taking his time, learning that Rodney would groan appreciatively when he licked delicate circles around his nipples, and giggled helplessly when he did the same to his belly button. They were kissing and laughing and Rodney was vibrating with desire and happiness.

Then John saw it. There on the back of Rodney's hip, just beneath the bone. An old scar. The faint outline of a belt buckle. Almost invisible against McKay's pale skin. He didn't want to break the mood, but he couldn't stand knowing it was there, why it was there. He traced it with a fingertip. Rodney shivered, but remained silent. 

John was deadly serious now. All intent focus. He raised his head and stared at Rodney his eyes a little bit wild. 

The music changed. More primal. They began to move together in time to the sensual beat that was playing deep inside Rodney. The vibrations rippled through him with every thrust. Rodney felt John like a low pounding bass line. It anchored him, even as he was flying apart. 

It was a wave crashing on the shore and a thousand symphony orchestras playing at once. It was a star going supernova and the thrill of flying. They came together in a crescendo of heat and lust and feeling. 

Afterwards, after a few more kisses and sweet words that neither would ever admit to outside of the bedroom, they fell asleep, together, wrapped in each other's arm and slept a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex scenes are hard. That is not a pun. I prefer reading them to writing them, so I hope nobody is disappointed.


	17. Fin

Three months later...

When the hidden door slid open unexpectedly, Rodney almost dropped his oscilloscope. He was working alone in the abandoned wing, attempting to understand the unusual energy fluctuations that centered around this room in particular and given that this was the Pegasus Galaxy, and given Rodney's streak of unbelievably bad luck lately, he could perhaps be forgiven for instinctively going for his gun.

John didn't like him coming here by himself, but they couldn't spare any military personnel for babysitting duty and Rodney wouldn't back down. He argued that they'd never encountered anything actually, corporeally, dangerous here and that a Marine couldn't shoot a bad dream. 

He didn't back down, but he did scan the entire sector twice and asked Radek to confirm that, aside from the odd energy readings, the area was clear. Rodney also promised to check in with the Control Room regularly and to carry his sidearm. Scientific curiosity is well and good, but (genius here!) he didn't want to get eaten by the latest and greatest creepy crawly that Pegasus could throw at him, even in the name of discovery and glory and the hope of finding a sustainable source of power.

Radek once asked him if working by himself, away from the populated areas made him nervous. Radek expected a quick, easy, abrasive response: about how McKay was an experienced SGA field team member who'd once stood down a Superwraith; that assistants, with their staggeringly low IQs only slowed him down; that he was not only a genius, but that he was brave...classic McKay.

Instead, Rodney looked at him seriously, giving the question serious thought. When he finally answered, he glanced nervously at Radek, hesitant and almost shy. 

"Ummm. No, not really. I mean certainly no more than any place else in this city. Not the physical surroundings anyway. In fact, there is something...something calming about that place. I don't know why although it may have something to do with the energy signals. Maybe some kind of harmonic resonance connected to the ATA gene...I dont know... Not enough data yet...but No. No, it doesn't make me nervous at all." 

He paused for a moment, fiddling with the crystal he'd been fixing. "The wing doesn't make me nervous. We've taken all possible precautions and there isn't anything there..." He took a deep breath and looked Radek in the eye.

"But I do wonder why I am drawn to the place. Energy readings aside, I wonder why I ended up there all those weeks ago. Not knowing is frustrating and yes, a tiny bit worrying." He bit his lip and broke eye contact. 

"But sitting here in the lab gossiping isn't going to keep Atlantis from sinking into the sea, so enough yakking, Zelenka. Go stop the minions from blowing us up. I'll see you at dinner tonight. Save me a pudding. God I hope we have meatloaf-thing and not roast beast..." 

And in a blur of sound and motion, Rodney was off, still muttering about the deficiencies of the cooking staff and how he wished Teyla had never introduced the cook to Tuttle roots. 

So, yes, he almost dropped the oscilloscope. But he didn't. Instead, he placed it carefully on a table, drew his weapon and cautiously stepped into the newly revealed space. 

\---------  
John signed the last mission report with a flourish and grinned. Totally caught up on paperwork. Ha! He was getting the hang of this command-bureaucracy thing. Finally. He glanced at the clock on his computer, and was surprised at how late it was. He grinned again. Given the hour, and the amount of paperwork he'd accomplished,he felt justified in logging off, dragging McKay out of the lab, and ... His grin grew even broader. And he definitely did not bounce to the labs. Military commanders do not bounce.

He didn't immediately begin to worry when he arrived at Engineering to find only Drs. Sandu and Moreau arguing in two languages over something that looked like the bastard child of Robocop and Herbie the Love Bug. He fled before he could get sucked into their impassioned explanation, snatches of "MALP...improve...efficiency...blaster" echoing down the hall.

He wasn't worried when he found the astrophysics lab empty and dark. McKay had been avoiding the place in favor of Engineering filled as it was with loud, squabbling, very much alive colleagues. Without Gaul and Abrams, Rodney was the only astrophysicist left on Atlantis. 

Moving with decidedly less bounce, John headed towards the mess hall. He'd hoped to convince McKay to have dinner out on the pier, but hey, he was a flexible guy. Dinner with the team and then beer and blankets on the pier later. 

His grin returned, only to fade quickly when Teyla told him she hadn't seen Rodney since breakfast. Peter Grodin, his tray loaded with a bottle of hot sauce and the largest bowl of Tava Bean Surprise, that John had ever seen, said McKay had last checked in a few hours ago from the A Wing, the semi official designation of the abandoned section. 

John gritted his teeth and thanked Peter. He tapped his com and tried to raise McKay, even as he was striding towards the transporter. There was no response. 

\---  
It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to run down the hall, guns blazing, and charge into That Room. He didn't have a rational reason to be afraid. Rodney hadn't actually missed a check in. And when McKay got involved in work, his focus was legendary. There hadn't been any worrisome readings or changes in the weird energy signature that emanated from the area. There'd been no distress calls, no weapons being fired. As he drew closer, within range of the life signs detector, he was relieved to see a single, strong signal coming from the room. He let out the breath he'd been holding, but John was still consumed with the need to Get To Rodney Now.

Silently he slipped into the room. Evidence of Rodney's presence was everywhere: neatly arranged tools, a partially assembled crystals panel, and a small pile of Power Bar wrappers. But no Rodney. John frowned when he saw McKay's earpiece and his gun laying on the desk. 

His eyes were drawn to a small panel glowing on an inside wall. He didn't recall seeing it before, or at least it hadn't been activated previously. He nudged it with his mind and was only a little bit surprised when a door sized portion of the wall slid open. Cautiously, he walked through and looked around.

"Well", he thought to himself, "This explains a lot."

The secret room was practically vibrating with energy. Clearly, even to John, it was the source of the mysterious power readings. The room wasn't a lab, nor did it have the feeling of Atlantean domesticity of the other room or the crew quarters. It felt more like, but not exactly, like the stasis room where Old Elizabeth had been discovered. There was a slightly raised platform in the middle of the room, and energy shimmered around it like a curtain. 

Atlantis nudged him, and John thought "open" at the curtain. It dissolved like a rainbow after a storm. There in the middle of the platform was Rodney McKay. When John saw what he was doing, his legs buckled. He sank to the floor and watched, amazed.

\-------  
As soon as he entered the secret room, Rodney laughed with delight. He holstered his gun and made a beeline for the control console. Atlantis was humming happily in his head and he tapped his toes in a syncopated beat along with her. He couldn't wait to tell John what he'd discovered. 

"And this crystal slides into here...and voila!" Rodney engaged the system and watched happily as the virtual reality device sprang to life after 10,000 years. 

His mind was reeling with the possibilities. A controlled environment to test some of the more...esoteric ... ideas the scientists came up with; real life training simulations for the military and security personnel; a safe place where Expedition members could relax on a virtual beach, or ski virtual slopes. A flight simulator for John...or a Ferris Wheel!

He pressed what he thought was a selection for a waterfall biome. He watched the rainbow shimmer of the energy field as the environment was created. What appeared made his stomach drop. He stared at it for a long time. Then he deliberately turned his back on the thing and left the room.

Rodney stood at his work desk shaking. Why? Why would Atlantis create That? He didn't understand and it confused him. It made him angry. It frightened him. 

Wait.

It frightened him.

He realized it frightened him.

And when he realized that, he laughed.

Yes, it's a bitter, self loathing laugh, but under the circumstances, he'd take it. He thought then of John, of his strength, of how they'd grown so close, how he didn't want to disappoint him...how he didn't want to disappoint himself.

"You, Rodney McKay," he berated himself, "are an idiot."  
"After all you've seen and all you've survived, YOU WILL NOT let this defeat you." He placed his weapon of the desk and removed his comm link. Then Rodney slowly, but deliberately walked back into the VR room to face his past.

\--------  
John was frozen in place. He didn't dare move or make a sound.even if he could have, he wouldn't have wanted to. He didn't want to distract Rodney, didn't want to change the atmosphere, break the mood. 

So he did what was necessary, but was so difficult for a man of action. He watched and listened. Saw the tears streaming down McKay's face. Heard the years of pain and loss and loneliness pour out of him. But he couldn't go to him. He would wait. He would be here when it was finished. 

And perhaps as a reward for his patience, or perhaps because he was meant to, he saw when the pain turned to joy. When the past was simply history and the present was Now and Rodney was still crying, but the tears were tears of relief and happiness.

And eventually Rodney looked up and saw John and he smiled. And the sight of him looking like that broke something inside John, and he was on his feet, arms outstretched, reaching. 

And still smiling, Rodney stood up from the piano and came to him.

And all around the city, for just a moment, every member of the Expedition heard the most beautiful music.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is it. Since I didn't post last week, I decided to combine the last two chapters. Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and encouraging me. It's been a really fantastic journey and I couldnt have done it without you.


End file.
